Antithesis: The Defining Feature of Pliny’s Prose (A Pliny Appreciation Guide, Part 2)

Antithesis, the Defining Feature of Pliny's Prose

Of all the stylistic devices found in Pliny’s letters, none are quite as prominent as antithesis, which Whitton describes as a “defining feature” that is “at the core of Pliny’s prose style.”[1] Antithesis is when a writer sets two (or more) ideas in opposition to each other, creating a juxtaposition which intensifies each of the ideas. The quote below is not only a good example of antithesis, but also illustrates the technique on a metaphorical level:

…quōrum fulgor et clāritās tenebrīs noctis excitābātur. (6.16.13)
“…[the fires] whose shining and brightness was sharpened by the darkness of night.”

Just as the darkness of night makes the fires seem even brighter, antithesis takes two elements and augments the qualities of each one through juxtaposition with the other.

While this technique has always been a feature of Latin literature, authors grew more and more partial to it in the generations after Augustus. Philologists of the 19th and early 20th century, however, viewed antithesis as “a brilliant and dangerous figure,” effective in moderation, but showing “artifice and affectation” when overused.[2] Therefore, authors who showed a fondness for antithesis, such as Seneca and Pliny, were for centuries characterized as inferior to their “Golden Age” counterparts. Pliny in particular was often criticized for his antithesis-heavy style: Westcott (1899) called his antitheses “somewhat excessive,”[3] while Mayor (1889) decried Pliny’s “extravagant love” for the figure.[4] Modern readers, however, have warmed to Pliny’s judicious and effective use of antithesis, recognizing the “grace and elegance” that it lends to his writing.[5]

In spite of all the efforts to periodize Latin literature by its features, antithesis is not that hard to find in “Golden Age” authors. Pliny would have found many illustrative examples in his idol Cicero:

“Quis clāriōribus virīs quōdam tempore iūcundior, quis turpiōribus coniūnctior? Quis cīvis meliōrum partium aliquandō, quis taetrior hostis huic cīvitātī? Quis in voluptātibus inquinātior, quis in labōribus patientior? Quis in rapācitāte avārior, quis in largītiōne effūsior?” (Cicero, Prō Caeliō 13)
“Who was more pleasant to more distinguished men at one time, yet who was more intimate with more awful men? Who was a citizen of the better parties at one time, yet who was a fouler enemy to this state? Who was more perverted in his pleasures, yet more enduring in his labors? Who was greedier in his avarice, yet more generous in his handouts?”

Note that the antithetical word-pairs are similar in form; the old-fashioned philologists considered this an ideal feature of antithesis.[6] Cicero places comparative adjectives in opposition, sometimes with phonetic similarities (iūcundior/coniūnctior), and his contrasting ablative nouns are always of the same declension, creating a quasi-rhyming effect (voluptātibus/labōribus, rapācitāte/largītiōne). We see Pliny, who was a great admirer of Cicero, doing the same:

…aut facere scrībenda aut scrībere legenda… (6.16.3)
“...either doing things worthy of being written, or writing things worthy of being read…”

Just like Cicero, Pliny chooses words that are very similar in form—not just an infinitive and a gerundive, but verbs of the same conjugation—which enables the two contrasting ideas to better play off each other.

Looking at Pliny’s antitheses, we also see inspiration from the world of poetry, especially from Martial. Epigrams and epistulae have a lot in common, after all.

Ēsquiliīs domus est, domus est tibi colle Diānae,
    et tua patricius culmina vīcus habet;
hinc viduae Cybelēs, illinc sacrāria Vestae,
    inde novum, veterem prōspicis inde Iovem.
Dīc ubi conveniam, dīc quā tē parte requīram;
    quisquis ubīque habitat, Maxime, nusquam habitat.
(7.73)

“You have a house on the Esquiline, a house on the hill of Diana, and the patrician neighborhood has your roofs. From one house you see the temple of widowed Cybele; from another, the temple of Vesta; from another, the new Jupiter; from another, the old one. Tell me where I should meet you, tell me in what direction I should look for you: whoever lives everywhere, Maximus, lives nowhere.”

Not only did Pliny have great respect for Martial (as his eulogy for him in letter 3.21 makes clear), his “pointed style” evokes Martial’s poetry, and in fact “some of his letters might be called ‘epigrams in prose.’”[7] This makes sense: epigrams, like letters, demand brevity, and both genres often rely on antithesis for their rhetorical punch. In the epigram above, we see antitheses in lines 1, 3, and 4, mixing chiasmus and parallel structure, and Martial concludes with a paradoxical antithesis in the form of a sententia (a maxim or proverb-like saying). These are all techniques of antithesis that Pliny would employ throughout his letters.

Most commonly, antithesis in Pliny is expressed using asyndeton, which forces the two clashing ideas together:

Iam diēs alibī, illīc nox... (6.16.7)
“Now it was day elsewhere, but there, it was night…”

Elsewhere, he uses polysyndeton:

...aut proficīscentem tē valētūdinis causā in Campāniam prōsequī aut profectam ē vestīgiō subsequī. (6.4.1)
“...either to accompany you as you were departing into Campania for reasons of your health, or to follow in your footsteps after you had departed.”

Or he might use subordination to join the two ideas together:

Properat illūc unde aliī fugiunt... (6.16.10)
“He hurries to where the others are fleeing from….”

When it comes to word order, Pliny usually puts antithesis in a chiasmus:

…utque timōrem eius suā sēcūritāte lēnīret… (6.16.12)
“...and so that he could ease his fear with his own calmness…”

But he sometimes uses parallel structure, with two elements (as in 6.16.3 above), or even three, as below:

Et haec quidem affīrmantibus crēdō; illud affīrmāre aliīs possum. (7.16.10)
“And indeed, I believe those who attest these things; but this other thing I can attest to others.”

When each part of the antithesis is three words or more, Pliny tends to avoid a strict A-B-C, A-B-C parallel structure.[8] Take this example:

...nam cuius litterae tantum habent suāvitātis, huius sermōnibus quantum dulcēdinis inest! (6.7.3)
“...for your letters have as much charm as the sweetness that is found in your conversations!”

Note how Pliny inverts the order of the verb and the genitive (habent suāvitātis / dulcēdinis inest). He even changes the sentence structure between the two pieces of the antithesis, which becomes clear if we put the two elements in a subject–verb–predicate word order:

Subject Verb Predicate
litterae habent tantum suāvitātis
quantum dulcēdinis inest sermōnibus

Why avoid a literal parallel here? Perhaps Pliny felt that putting the words in the exact same order each time would sound tasteless and overwrought—the “artifice and affectation” of antithesis that philologists of the next millennium would lament. Whatever his reasons, Pliny often mitigates the effects of exact harmony with “intervening words or formal or syntactical variation,” leaning towards the inconcinnitās that his friend Tacitus was famous for.[9]

Here, Pliny breaks up the exact harmony by using a litotes in the second component of the antithesis:

Iam illud nōnne et magis terribile et nōn minus mīrum est…? (7.27.4)
Now, isn’t it both more frightening and no less amazing…?

And here is one where he inserts a word into the second element:

…nē vacua mēns audīta simulācra et inānēs sibi metūs fingeret. (7.27.7)
“...so that his empty mind would not conjure up for him the ghost he had heard of and pointless fears.”

Note especially the balance of the above antithesis: by slipping the sibi into the second phrase, he can equal out the two parts of the antithesis at seven syllables each. Usually, Pliny keeps the two components of an antithesis at roughly equal length, measured in number of syllables. Though this might seem like an excess of meticulousness, it is clear that the writers of Pliny’s day considered syllable counts in their writing.[10] Equal syllable counts can turn up in longer phrases too:

Erō enim sēcūrior dum legō, statimque timēbō cum lēgerō. (6.4.5)
“For I will be more secure while I read, but I will immediately worry when I have finished reading.”

If an elision occurs between the first two words (as is assumed to happen within a phrase, even in prose[11]), then each part of the antithesis is exactly ten syllables. Add this to the other literary techniques—polyptoton of legō/lēgerō, phonetic similarity of dum/cum and arguably enim/statim—and Pliny crafts a subtle and delicate sentence, an appropriate conclusion for this letter to his wife.

I’ll close with just one more example of an antithesis that abounds with other literary devices: anaphora (with apud), as well as both polyptoton and chiasmus (ratiō ratiōnem / timōrem timor). While it can be easy to dismiss Pliny’s idiosyncrasies as literary flair for its own sake, Pliny’s artfulness is never arbitrary. This sentence is instrumental to Pliny’s purpose, which is to craft a narrative which highlights the positive character traits of his uncle, and by extension, himself.

…apud illum quidem ratiō ratiōnem, apud aliōs timōrem timor vīcit. (6.16.6)
“Indeed, in him, one reason won out over the other, but in others, one fear won out over the other.”

I could go on for a long time—there are so many examples in the AP selections alone—but I think that these should be more than sufficient to demonstrate this particular feature of Pliny’s style. Fīnem ergō faciam. But now that you know just how prevalent antithesis is in Pliny’s work, you won’t stop noticing it!

Notes

  1. Whitton, Christopher. Pliny the Younger: Epistulae Book II. Cambridge University Press, 2013, p. 21, 24.
  2. Waddy, Virginia. Elements in Composition and Rhetoric. Van Antwerp, Bragg, and Co., 1889, p. 238–239. https://archive.org/details/elementsofcompos00wadd.
  3. Westcott, J. H.. Selected Letters of Pliny. G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1899, p. xxvii. https://www.google.com/books/edition/C_Plini_Secundi_epistulae_selectae_Selec/V3jW4CqTuRIC?hl=en&gbpv=1.
  4. Mayor, John E. B. Pliny’s Letters: Book III. 2nd ed. MacMillan and Co., 1889, p. 236. https://www.google.com/books/edition/Pliny_s_Letters_Book_III/sOLfAAAAMAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1
  5. Conte, Gian Biagio. Latin Literature: A History. Translated by Joseph B. Solodow. Johns Hopkins University Press, 1994, p. 527.
  6. Auden, Henry William. Higher Latin Prose William Blackwood and Sons, 1898, p. 18. https://www.google.com/books/edition/Higher_Latin_Prose/aa8BAAAAYAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1
  7. von Albrecht, Michael. A History of Latin Literature, vol. 2. E. J. Brill, 1997, p. 1151.
  8. Whitton, p. 22.
  9. ibid.
  10. ibid.
  11. Whitton, p. 22, n. 122.

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